


And Not To Yield

by Rastaban



Series: Unmapped Worlds [3]
Category: Magic: The Gathering
Genre: Also The Eldrazi Titans Are Here, Drana Starts A Number Of Fights, Gen, Not A Lot Of Outright Violence But Vampires Are Vampires, Planeswalker Drana, Post-BFZ Block, The Titans Are Everywhere!, The Titans Are There
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-07
Updated: 2017-03-07
Packaged: 2018-09-30 09:52:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10160585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rastaban/pseuds/Rastaban
Summary: The vampire bloodchief Drana of Malakir did not shy away from the fateful battle of Sea Gate. She did not turn aside when the eldrazi titans breached the world of Zendikar. And when the Gatewatch drove the wounded titans back into the chaos of the Blind Eternities, she refused to let her prey escape. That determination is about to land her in a strange world lit by a silver moon - and alter the course of her life forever.





	1. Away

Drana of Malakir plunged her serrated sword down through the core of yet another monstrosity of meat and not-meat. It crumpled out of the sky, trailing void-black shards, as she yanked the blade back out of its blue guts. The ground fighters clustering around Sea Gate alternately cheered and yelled up at her as they scrambled out of the way of her latest kill, but she had already turned away. For a moment the vampire bloodchief lurched and dipped on uncertain winds, then steadied herself before arrowing towards another reaching horror. Figures in darkly iridescent plate armor fell in behind and before her. Their weapons flashed, lopping off the creature's tentacles so their lord could punch through the armor beneath and slice apart what she hoped was its head. She plunged one gloved fist into the dying eldrazi as it fell, ripped out a handful of dripping magenta and smeared it across her chestplate over dozens of similar stains. Drana knew the essence she gained this way would amount to but the smallest sip, but the sight of their lord feeding on the enemy never failed to revitalize her warriors in turn.

Beneath her Zendikar roiled with a violence even she had never seen before. The land convulsed in its attempt to finally vomit up the poison it had stomached for six thousand years. Torrents of mana rippled across the ground like heat waves. Drana slid sideways to put herself in the path of one such surge, followed by her vampire warriors, and felt a feverish strength race through her. She drifted a moment to let the power close her most severe wounds. Around her all the races of Zendikar fought to hold the swarms away from Sea Gate. Drana's keen sight picked out grey-skinned kor hooking foes out of the sky, elves of the deep forest commanding elementals of vine and bone, merfolk casting nets to snare beasts more horrible than anything the ocean could conjure. And over it all, the titans. Kozilek's warping nature came in pulses that shattered everything around her, made a mockery of breath and gravity and light. But it was Ulamog that bled into her mind, Ulamog that frightened her, not because of its strangeness but because it _wasn't_ strange. Drana knew that essence. She had descended from it all those thousands of years past, a fragment shed by the titan just like the horrors whose blood crusted and dried on her armor. And no matter how deeply she rejected them, no matter how hard she fought, even now - even now! - some lost scrap of herself yearned to rejoin that terrible hunger that sawed through the sky.

The waves of mana coursing through the ground beneath her suddenly shivered and realigned. Drana bolted upwards in surprise. A brilliant trifold glyph seared across her magical senses, followed by a note of pure, resonant power - and the entirety of existence woke to answer. Beneath her the skin of Zendikar split apart. She darted out of the way as leyline after incandescent leyline ripped free of the earth. The blazing streams of power lashed up towards Kozilek and Ulamog, seizing them in brilliant bonds. The titans writhed, but the lines of flame only twined themselves tighter around impossible geometries - and _pulled_.

The titans Became.

Earth and sky wheeled around her. Drana dropped out of midair as Zendikar's sky _inverted_ into the present, became the Presence, the world folded and turned inside out. An overwhelming weight buffeted her from every side. Her mind reeled beneath the magnitude of their existence. She caught herself a few meters above the ground, soared back upwards and scanned frantically for anyone else still alive, then swerved just in time to avoid a disgusting hybrid of cyclone and tentacle plummeting past her. The meat-cloud hit the earth and splattered apart. Each droplet resolved itself into the magenta-blue of eldrazi drones skittering outwards into the fray.

Drana raised her sword and channeled a fraction of power, letting it blaze a brilliant red. She couldn't see her vampiric cohort anymore, and in her heart wasn't sure she wanted to - if the grasping tentacles had taken them, if the warping wheeling waves had split them asunder - but when her signal flared above the fight a handful of black shapes swept back up towards her. Relief. She dove down to meet them, giving a wide berth to another meat-cyclone dropping out of the sky.

Then the world stuttered - and the colossal tentacle was just above her and falling fast, and Drana had a glimpse of her lieutenant Kan's face contorted into a rare expression of surprise before the flesh dropped on her like a hammer-blow.

She hacked upwards with her blade, gouging oozing trails into the mass as she tried to climb up while plummeting down. Pulpy tendrils bulged out of the bruise-colored surface, waggling as if tasting the air; then before she could turn to slice them too, they whipped around one ankle and her sword arm. Wind whistled in her ears as she fell. She slashed and stabbed, felt the meaty bonds finally part, and shoved herself out in a direction that she hoped wasn't the--

Drana hit ground hard enough to squeeze a yelp of pain out of her. Armor plates crunched under the impact and bit into her ribs and legs. She staggered to hands and knees, rolling sideways, grasping for her sword. A broken shin guard fouled her movement; she grabbed blindly for the cracked edge and ripped it away. Her desperate struggle had thrown her far off-course and she had landed on the outskirts of Sea Gate, on a slim ridge left miraculously empty for the moment. The tentacle that had swatted her out of the air impacted in the distance; a new swarm of drones boiled outwards from the crater. Living power still streamed into the sky, still held the titans fast. But Drana felt the ground quake beneath her. The images of Kozilek and Ulamog wavered above her, but the land's power withered faster beneath that engulfing horror.

That trifold glyph seared again across her mind, wrote itself across the earth - and the slender loops of power that bound the titans ignited around them. All the fire and fury and pain Zendikar had built up in six thousand years under the eldrazi's yoke erupted into scorching light. Soil disintegrated into dust under her palms as the world threw itself entire into this final stand. Drana dug her fingers into the dying earth and drew in all the living energy at her command, all the vampiric strength of a bloodchief. If Zendikar would die, then it would die shrieking, screaming, fighting to the final moment. Zendikar would die free. She reached further still, back into that ancient essence that had formed her long ago, cast aside from the titans themselves, she reclaimed it all; and then she hurled it forth. A circle of stone around her shattered upwards into new life. Zendikar would die free. Vines erupted out of dust, then crumbled back into ash. The circle she had briefly invigorated began to contract and she pushed harder still, screaming alongside her world, screaming one single blazing cry of defiance: _Zendikar will be free!_

And somehow - impossible - unthinkable - the titans' presence began to retreat.

The sky rang with that overwhelming cacophony that had threatened to shatter her within the first eldrazi she had drained; now Zendikar burned its own song into the cosmic noise of the titans' being, crashing, searing, disrupting. When Drana dared a look upwards she saw nets of leylines tearing apart limbs that shriveled and disappeared. Kozilek and Ulamog shrank more rapidly in the sky, their leyline bonds slackening, and the noise of them faded away to--

_Away._

Drana shoved herself to her feet, new anger flooding through her. Kozilek and Ulamog weren't dying at all. They were running. The titans in the sky were slinking away - to the _away_ she had first sensed within Ulamog's distant understanding. The titans would go to _away_ , where they would rest and gather themselves, and then they would come back. In a thousand years, ten thousand years, it didn't matter to forces that knew time only as an inconvenience. The humans below would celebrate without a thought, because it didn't matter to them either - they would long be dust when Ulamog returned.

Drana, Kalastria bloodchief, liberator of Malakir, sovereign of vampires and of what remained of Guul Draz, would not be.

She would have to watch this devastation happen again. Fight this grinding war of attrition again.

Her enemy

her _prey_

was running

And Drana of Malakir didn't leave her prey alive.

Drana found the padded box at her waist, cracked one of the three small stone vials within, and swallowed its contents. Magenta flame raced through her veins and lit up her sight. She tossed aside the vial and reached deep into her self, seeking that origin she loathed, that sympathy she had fought to erase but could not deny: she was eldrazi-born. At the core of her being still lurked that treacherous grey seed that had bloomed into Drana, Kalastrian bloodchief. She held it in her mind, still longing to rejoin its masters, and told it, _You will serve me._

Her vision shifted and stretched. Through the lens of that connection she saw the eldrazi’s dark, puckered blotches on the world, newly highlighted in magenta. They faded like blood seeping into earth. She drew her sword and locked her freshly-heightened senses on her prey, and followed.

A storm of needles blasted her to her knees. The pressure of reality itself tore into her. But in among the hail of pain she could still see those dark tendrils coiling and retreating, slinking away from Zendikar through a million rips and tears; paths that belonged to the eldrazi, paths that therefore belonged to her. She pushed harder. The needle storm became a solid wall, a barrier of shrieking pain worse than any she'd ever felt, but the magenta trail of her prey hung tantalizingly close and if the eldrazi could go through, then so could she - she was Drana of Malakir, and _no one held her back--_

a snap like a match striking

screaming noise and chaos wild and raw, roiling boiling in the titans' wake, reaching along that grey cord of connection, but distance no longer had meaning and

but they fled before her born on shifting currents not riding the noise but submerging within it and already the brilliant scars Zendikar had written through their essence had begun to fade

and she fell fast but they fell faster still

and they slipped away

And it was night.


	2. Lord

Air.

Gravity.

Substance.

Existence reasserted itself. Drana's thoughts coalesced into awareness. Physicality returned.

She lived.

Drana stood slowly, still holding her sword, blinking away smudges of color across her sight. Above her a full silver moon shone in a black sky speckled with unfamiliar stars. She stood on a low hill in a grassy meadow edged with the dark forms of trees. Her bare skin prickled and for the first time in her long, long life, Drana felt cold. Zendikar's living presence, a warmth she had never truly been conscious of, now left her bereft and shivering. In its place: chill, gloom, shadow, a taste like the blood of an unfamiliar beast. That most of all hammered home the revelation: she had traveled to another world.

So this was _away_ , or at least part of it. The aftermath of some stunning noise still rang in her ears, but as her hearing returned she picked up insects humming and clicking, rodents squeaking among the grass stems. An animal howled somewhere in the distance, and another joined it. Not the sounds of a world under eldrazi attack. Had she missed the mark? Had Kozilek and Ulamog gotten away after all? The eldrazi essence she had drunk before plunging into the chaos between worlds still illuminated her sight, and with it she saw a broad, faint plume like drifting fog rising up into the sky. Drana squinted and shaded her keen eyes against the moonlight pouring across the meadow to follow it. Now that was interesting. The uncanny mist led to the moon, and engraved across its surface glowed the same glyph that had been carved on Zendikar's soul, the sign Drana had used to see the titans. If the same sigil loomed in this sky, then perhaps the eldrazi had been here as well. The traces of eldritch energy around her didn't feel like the titans she pursued, but this world didn't feel like Zendikar, either. Perhaps it would simply take time for her to acclimate. Perhaps her prey had gone to ground like the mice that fled into their burrows at the fox's approach. Well. Then it was time for this fox to dig them back up.

Drana reached out and found to her vast relief that her magic still worked as it should; she rose into the air with barely a thought. The meadow dropped away to a distant patch of green surrounded on all sides by thick forest. Silver moonlight fell cool on her horned shoulders, soft with just the slightest edge. At last in the distance she spotted a tall hill, and at its crest a great stone structure with lamplight spilling from a hundred windows. Drana focused her sight and flew towards it. The architecture was utterly unfamiliar, but in size and complexity the building looked like one of the wealthy manors on the estates of Malakir. So this world contained beings smart enough to build houses. Whatever dwelled in there might know of the surrounding area and where the eldrazi had gone. Then again, they might not. Did people here know about the eldrazi, about vampires, about Zendikar? If not, Drana might have to travel quite far indeed to find another dwelling. But the building was definitely inhabited. At the worst, she would have a chance to feed. Hunger flickered through her veins. Piercing the skin of the world, it seemed, took a fair amount of energy.

Drana encountered no sentries as she approached, though she did feel the brush of magical wards; not dissimilar from the magic of Zendikar, their patterns easily confused and convinced to allow her to pass. She landed some distance below the manor on the sloping hill and assessed the structure. Though the house smelled of life, it seemed unguarded. She walked soundlessly up the black stone pathway towards the building. The rich scent of living blood only strengthened as she approached; the building must be stuffed. Hunger flared more strongly this time. Drana took a moment before climbing the steps to check over her equipment. A not-insignificant amount of miscellaneous eldrazi fluids still coated what remained of her leather and chitin armor, mixed with the chalky dust of Zendikar. She'd had to tear the broken left shinguard off, and a torso plate had indeed buckled in her fall. She grimaced and tried to straighten it out. No good; a hairline crack ran through the flexible, insectile chitin, rendering it useless in future combat. But for now another determined pull forced it back into place and hid the crack. The battle at Sea Gate had depleted more than three-quarters of her usual complement of daggers and throwing knives, but those that remained were eminently functional, and when she checked the padded box at her waist she found two sealed stone vials of eldritch essence still intact. Drana sheathed her sword, but made certain it drew easily, and took a second to wish she had her cloak. It tended to have a wonderfully cowing effect on mortals. But the trailing fabric was too much of a liability in battle, along with her horned crown, and had been left behind. No matter. The blood of her foes would have to do. Drana climbed white marble steps that glowed in the moonlight, braced her hands against the ebon double doors, and shoved them open.

Heat and light flooded over her, and the sounds of music and talk. The slam of the doors against their stops cut through the party like a shout. Some stringed instrument screeched to a halt. The dozens of humanoid guests within, all arrayed in fine fabrics, all holding glasses of deep red, turned to look at the sound. Smooth white bone shielded their faces and her hand went to the hilt of her sword at the sight of Ulamog's brood - then she realized they were wearing masks made of ivory, decorated with gold and jet. Behind the masks burned hundreds of eyes, shadowed and strangely reversed, with colored irises glowing against sclera of black. All of them staring at her. Drana stared back and, ever so slightly, tightened her grip on her sword. A wide marble staircase swept up from the foyer, curling away on both sides to the manor's second level. Drana scanned the crowd around her, and when she looked back, a woman stood there.

She was a vampire. Drana didn't need the woman's bleached white skin or blood-red hair to know. And she was an old vampire, and powerful, and she knew what Drana was in turn. That ripe smell of living energy rose not from the masked guests but from the crystal glasses they held. They were not the woman’s prey. They were her bloodclan.

The chief of vampires swept down the stairs in a wide dress of white and red and black ornamented with some lustrous black metal. Ribbons of it trailed from her forearms and neck, curling and cut to a razor edge. They made Drana think briefly of her own bloodline, but the woman's bare white shoulders showed no trace of horns. Vampires from a world where the eldrazi hadn't twisted their very nature; Drana felt a sudden, wholly unexpected twinge that took her a moment to identify as envy.

The vampire reached the base of the stairs, but rather than step onto the carpet of the foyer, simply walked forward on air. Her bare white feet glowed in the candlelight. "Darling, it _is_ good to see you," she said with lofty familiarity. Her voice rang like silver bells. "Join me in the western dining room, will you?"

Drana could have laughed aloud. After the last year of brutal warfare, of desperate flight across a dying land, to be greeted with all the formality of a Malakir ballroom. It felt as though - well, as though she had traveled to another world. But nobility stayed nobility, no matter the time or place. The bloodclan Kalastria would not be found wanting for decorum on her account. So Drana released her grip on her sword hilt, gave the slightest of bows, and answered, "Nothing would please me more."

Her host's face broke into a delighted grin. She spun with a ruffle of skirts and gestured for Drana to accompany her up the stairs. Drana walked through the aisle that opened silently in the crowd, followed by all those bone-masked eyes, and looked neither right nor left. When she had crossed half the foyer - and her host's point had been made - the vampire chief glanced back, waved one hand in the air and added, "What are you lot gaping at? Don't let me disturb the party."

Drana followed her host up the stairs and off to one side, deeper into the manor. Behind her she heard the sounds of conversation and music resume, though beneath it already swirled a current of curiosity, suspicion, and rumor. True to her word, the vampire led Drana to a large room set against the manor's western wall. A massive, elegant dining table carved from dark wood dominated the space. Drana preceded her host into the room and, when the door shut behind her, she turned to see the vampire holding a strange black sword in a light but ready grip. Drana eyed the bizarre weapon with some skepticism, then looked back to find her host’s expression unchanged from its mild, condescending amusement. The sword’s many edges glittered in the light, but the vampire’s red eyes burned far sharper. All at once the fire of her will broke against Drana. _Reveal yourself,_ that bright gaze demanded. _I am lord. Submit, and obey. I am lord._ Invisible flame wrapped her mind, looking for weakness, for a way in.

Drana herself had not moved except to return one hand to the hilt of her own sword. She allowed a slight smile to curve her lips as the vampire’s power pressed and was rebuffed. Then she pressed back.

Her host blinked, her own expression ruffled for the briefest of moments. Then her face broke into another broad smile, bright and blank as the ivory masks of her guests. She lowered the blade a fraction; when Drana released her own grip, she returned it to her back, where its black steel merged in some inscrutable fashion with her curious half-armor.

"And who, then, are you?" asked her host in that musical voice.

"Drana, bloodchief of Kalastria," she answered. "Liberator of Malakir and sovereign of Guul Draz."

" 'Bloodchief?' " repeated the vampire with a high laugh. "What a charmingly rustic title. You're not from Innistrad, of course."

"Innistrad - that is this place?" Drana immediately cursed herself for letting slip her ignorance about her new surroundings.

The vampire's amusement only grew. "This is Innistrad, and I am Olivia Voldaren, its Lady. And since I know of no sire bearing the name of 'Kalastria,' nor 'Malakir,' nor 'Guul Draz,' then you, my vampiric visitor, do not come from this world at all."

"I come from a world called Zendikar, following the trail of my enemies. And since no one familiar with it would mistake the city of Malakir or the continent of Guul Draz, then you, my host, have not visited it yourself."

A hint of genuine interest flickered behind Olivia's smile. “Fascinating. Well, then. Would you care to join me for a drink?"

“With pleasure.”

Olivia swept across the dining room to another door. This one opened into a small hallway ending in a richly-appointed parlor. Drana caught a glimpse of a servant fleeing through a concealed entrance. They must have brought the two slim wine-glasses and the decanter of blood still warm from the vein that rested on the sideboard. Olivia gestured and the parlor’s lights brightened to a comfortable glow.

“And do tell me where you got your outfit, darling,” she said as she moved to the sideboard.

Drana glanced down at her battered plate. "The Hagra swamps are home to a species of giant scorpions. Our nobility regard hunting them as prime entertainment. I forged this set from my finer trophies."

“They must be fearsome beasts,” said Olivia. She unstoppered the cut-crystal decanter and poured a measure of blood into each glass, making certain to stand to one side such that Drana had a clear view of it. A courtesy Drana appreciated, even if she hadn't yet run across a poison that could fell a bloodchief. “Perhaps even fierce enough to give the beasts of Innistrad a real fight. Cheers, darling,” she said, offering the first glass to her guest.

Drana took the crystal glass from Olivia’s hand, tipped it towards her host a fraction of a degree, then sipped. At the first taste her hunger reawoke with a vengeance. She could have quite easily drained it in one gulp, and the decanter as well. For a moment bloodlust reared its ugly head, but Drana fought it back down. Such a sign of weakness would never do.

Olivia drank from her own glass, seated herself in one pure-white stuffed chair, and gestured towards another. Drana shook her head. "I'm afraid my combat armor would quite befoul your furnishings," she said with a smile. "Might I stand?"

"Of course, of course, as you like," said Olivia. Her bright red eyes narrowed fractionally; she had not missed Drana's emphasis on _combat armor_. "Now. As I recall, you said you came here in the pursuit of your enemies.”

Drana sipped again, felt the life rushing through her. She set down her glass on a spindly side table. "We fought beings called eldrazi."

Olivia's expression broke apart for a microsecond. She cleared her throat and resettled herself. "I'm afraid if you've come trophy-hunting, you'll have no luck. We've seen the beast off."

"Only one?" said Drana. "But they were - ah. So this is where Emrakul has gone.”

Olivia nodded. "Its thralls repeated that word without ceasing. Emrakul." Her voice stayed as light and musical as before, but she hesitated a telling fraction before saying the name.

Drana leaned forward. "Where is it?"

"Gone. Innistrad's silver moon is possessed of great power to bind and confine. From what I understand, the beast was bound into the moon. May it never trouble us again.”

"The titans were similarly chained on my own world. Eventually their prison broke."

Olivia set down her glass. "There are more of them."

"Two more, that we know of. When their bonds on Zendikar were broken, the titans Kozilek and Ulamog remained to devastate my world. It seems Emrakul traveled to yours instead. I can't say why."

"Will these others - Kozilek and Ulamog - follow in Emrakul's wake?"

"My world...disrupted them. I doubt they will return within a mortal lifespan."

"A mortal's lifespan, though."

"Yes. And when they do return..."

Olivia raised her glass again, sipped, and turned away. "You bring ill news, bloodchief of Malakir," she said at last.

"Only the truth, Lady of Innistrad," answered Drana. "The titans' sense of time is - different from our own. They may not return in a million years. They may return tomorrow. No one can say for certain.”

"And this is the prey you hunt? That you followed here?"

"I followed Kozilek and Ulamog into the space between worlds. But they evaded my grasp. I overshot the mark and landed here.” She raised her glass in a silent salute. “I am grateful to whatever instinct or chance led me to such a generous host.”

“So your hunt ends with Innistrad.”

Drana stiffened. “My hunt ends with my quarry dead. I will return to that place again, and again, until I can put them down.”

“Indeed. Indeed.” Olivia tapped one finger against her crystal glass. Drana could see where her nails had recently been cut short to better grip a blade. “I, too, am grateful to whatever fate led you to my doorstep, Drana of Malakir. In fact I think that you and I could help each other quite a bit. I offer my assistance in your quest - so long as you assist me as well.”

Drana feigned an exaggerated confusion. "But you're the Lady of Innistrad. What foes could you have to slay?"

Olivia laughed. "Only time, darling. The most cunning foe of all. I’m _bored_. After ten thousand years of revelry, one tends to have exhausted even a world the size of Innistrad.” She gestured dismissively. “Lace and steel, silver and crystal, it's always the same - none of these fools have any imagination. Please believe me when I say you're the first truly _new_ thing I've seen in centuries. If I can't be entertained by anything left on Innistrad, why, it's time to see what the rest of existence has to offer. Bring me items of interest - and I suspect you understand my taste - and you'll always be welcome here in Lurenbraum."

“Provide me with the resources and sanctuary I request, and the curiosities of a dozen worlds will be yours.”

“Done,” said Olivia. She raised her glass. "A toast, then, to our arrangement."

"If we are to drink a toast, then I have a suitable gift to offer.” Drana found another stone vial in the box at her waist. The kor-made stone containers hadn't even chipped through her fall and journey between the worlds. Drana made a mental note to see if the stoneforger had survived. She appreciated that kind of quality.

She motioned towards the decanter of blood on the sideboard; Olivia passed it over with a look of deep and sincere curiosity. Drana unsealed the vial and poured in its contents. The bottled essence hit the blood with a flare of pink light. Drana tipped the last drop out of the vial, replaced the decanter’s heavy crystal stopper, and handed it back to Olivia. The blood within now glittered a weird ruby-magenta. Bright blue highlights swarmed within like tiny fish.

Olivia held the decanter up to the light, then looked back and quirked a single eyebrow in inquiry. Drana said, “I suspect that Emrakul brought no true spawn of its own to this world. On Zendikar we faced the titans' broods directly. They have no blood as we conceive of it, but they have an essence. Its energy is unlike any other."

Understanding spread across Olivia's face. She unstoppered the decanter and inhaled deeply. Red eyes fluttered closed in bliss. "Exquisite," she murmured. She retrieved her emptied glass and poured in a finger's width of eldrazi blood, then gestured for Drana's glass and filled it as well. They drank together.

Olivia set down her glass. “My deepest apologies for doubting you, Drana of Malakir. This is a queen's gift. Please accept a token of my own affection, in return.”

“With greatest appreciation,” answered Drana. Again it almost made her laugh, this disorienting similarity to the noble courts of Malakir. Drana had played out this very ritual dozens of times. She had gifted Olivia an item of value, and Olivia could not be outdone in largesse. Her host was obligated to answer with one of equal worth, or else appear to have less to spare than her visitor, to be less wealthy. To be inferior.

Olivia led her through another hallway to a set of dark wooden stairs leading down. The walls lost their ornate windows as they descended below the grass and into the stone hillside beneath. Olivia stopped on a wide landing dominated by a huge, dark steel door. On the other side of the landing the stairs continued into darker depths.

The steel door had no handle or latch, but it split down the middle and swung open at Olivia’s touch. Lamps sprung to life within, brighter than the ones in the parlors upstairs. Their light revealed an armory massive enough that Drana could not see its end from where she stood. Shelves, racks, and chests held a vast array of weaponry. A suit of lustrous black plate still stood on its rack, not yet put away, and a handful of deep gouges marred the metal. Drana measured the armor by eye; she suspected it would fit Olivia perfectly.

Olivia let her visitor take in the sight of the armory for a moment, then went to a glass display case set against one wall. The rack above it held a strange assortment of polearms, many still bearing scorchmarks. She lifted the cover of the case and retrieved a slim sword with a blade like polished stone, lit from within. Olivia held it up for a moment, admiring the weapon. Its crossguard had been sculpted into a pair of outstretched wings covered in delicate engraving. The sphere of rock crystal that formed the pommel caught every shred of the blade's white glow, threw it back in dancing glimmers.

“Moonsilver,” Olivia told Drana. “Forged from angels' weapons." Then she turned it hilt-first and offered it to Drana.

The moment Drana gripped the padded black hilt a spear of cold shot up through her arm and seared into her chest. The blade's light pulsed, flaring, blinding, and her bare skin burned everywhere it fell. Through the glare she could see Olivia watching her with cold red eyes. Watching for any crack in Drana's composure. Olivia had handled the blade without apparent discomfort. If Drana faltered here, it would mark her as weaker. But the frigid moonfire had nothing on the magenta burn of the eldrazi. Drana concentrated her will, forced back the scorching ice. _You are my weapon. You serve me. I am lord,_ she told it. _Submit, and obey._ At last the sword’s light retreated to its earlier banked glow. Drana ran one fingertip down the center of the blade, looked Olivia in the eye, and said, "Exquisite."

Olivia looked intrigued by the fact that the sword had failed to kill her guest, but said nothing. Instead she took a heavy scabbard from the same case and regarded it thoughtfully. “As I said, Innistrad's moon is possessed of uncommon powers. But unlike its worshippers below, it does not presume to judge. Moonsilver binds the divine and demonic alike. Many centuries ago I conceived of this weapon and killed angels to make it. It was quite an amusing project, and the result has served me well. But with Avacyn slain, Innistrad has no more gods to kill.” She held the scabbard out across her open palms. Inlays of black and white and red gleamed along its length. “If our moon may contain Emrakul, perhaps its silver can strike down her siblings. I offer you a blade worthy of your hunt.“

"A mighty gift,” said Drana. She took the scabbard and sheathed the moonsword. “And worthy indeed. I thank you, lady of Innistrad. For your hospitality, and your generosity.”

"I thank you as well, lady of Malakir. I wish these other titans gone as much as you do. May that sword find its mark.” Then Olivia smiled, and this time it was genuine. “Oh, and do leave without returning to the party, dear. The mystery will vex them for _ages."_

Drana inclined her head a fraction of a degree, and this time Olivia mirrored the gesture. “Till we meet again,” she said.

“Till we meet again,” echoed her host. “Be welcome in my home.”

Home. It burned into Drana’s mind clearer than any moonfire. Zendikar. Malakir. _Home._

And before she could say another word, Innistrad faded away.


	3. Hunt

Before they had been forced to abandon Malakir, Drana had watched the living water of its fens and canals turn to powder as the eldrazi’s desiccating influence swept towards them. Sinkholes swallowed buildings whole when the stone beneath warped and buckled. Brave words about holding their ground crumbled in the face of the truth: her city, the greatest bastion of culture and civilization on Zendikar, was just one more boulder to be swept away on the eldrazi tide. When her forces began the long flight across Guul Draz, Drana had looked over her shoulder one last time and held the sight of Malakir close in her mind. She knew it might well be the last she ever saw of her home. Now the inchoate madness of the transit between worlds faded away and left Drana in a stretch of dead grey earth. She stood smoothly, but not without difficulty; the exertion of another crossing dragged at her limbs. And as her sight cleared it revealed a vista of dark towers that made her heart soar. Drana leapt into the air, eager for a better look.

As she lifted above the trees, to her shock, she heard the silver note of a scout’s horn calling in alarm. Impossible. No one could have weathered the war in Malakir, and none of the survivors at Sea Gate could have made the arduous trek all the way back in the mere hours Drana had been gone. But Malakir was undeniably inhabited once more: colorful banners fluttered from the higher towers and distant specks moved among the buildings. Activity boiled up at the nearest of Malakir’s gates and a dark shape rose from the crowd. Drana knew it just from the way it moved: Kan, one of her oldest overseers, her lieutenant on the long march to Tazeem. She followed his path towards her with astonishment. How could Kan be here? How could her people have already made the journey from Halimar back to Malakir, let alone begun to revive the city?

Kan must have recognized her as well, because he drifted to a halt and stared at her with a rare expression of surprise. It had been millennia since they had bothered to exchange a kiss of greeting, but he seemed reluctant to address her at all. Drana beckoned him forward with a hint of annoyance. When he came within hearing she said, “Explain.”

Kan halted in his customary position, before and just slightly lower than her. “My lady," he said. “Is - is it you?”

“Who else would it be?” said Drana. She waved a hand at the city before her. “How have our forces returned to Malakir so quickly?”

Kan looked even more confused. “It - I don’t understand. We - after the battle at Sea Gate, when we could not find you, we—”

“Answer the question,” snapped Drana. “How are you back already in our city?”

Kan stumbled over his words. “We traveled overland, the same way we left. I don’t understand what you’re asking.”

Drana’s thoughts stilled. None of what Kan was saying made sense, unless… “Kan, how long has passed since the battle at Sea Gate?”

“Two months,” said Kan.

Drana kept her expression still even as her mind reeled. _Two months!?_ But - time meant nothing to to the titans; perhaps it meant just as little in that space between realities. Perhaps those brief moments spent plunging after the titans had meant two months back on Zendikar. Still, though. _Two entire months?_

“I - I’m sorry,” continued Kan. “We couldn’t find you. We thought you had been… We never meant any…”

Drana dismissed this with a single gesture. “It’s no matter, Kan. You led our forces back to Malakir in my absence?” He nodded. “As you should have. The fight against the titans required my full efforts, and it seems those efforts consumed far more time than I anticipated. But that battle is won.”

Kan accepted this explanation without question, as Drana knew he would. Since the day she had consumed an eldrazi sire from within and infused her army with its unnatural strength, her people had regarded her as something beyond even a bloodchief. Though other sires of other families survived, they had acknowledged Drana’s dominance during the fight against the traitor, and her feats in battle had only increased their respect and fear. If Drana said she had taken the fight to the eldrazi on another level, they would believe her…even if Drana herself did not understand it.

“Welcome home, then. Let me show you what has changed in your absence,” said Kan. He swooped back down towards the city walls and Drana followed. Instead of landing within the city, though, he continued past the walls and descended towards a spreading patch of dark green. Drana followed, curious. The green made a bright circle in the dead white landscape, darkening at the center where deep water pooled around the roots of new growth. Just above it hovered an object she’d never seen before. She landed near the nascent shoreline. The floating object drifted like a hedron, had runes and ancient patterns carved into it like a hedron - but it looked like a sphere. It spun gently in midair. Drana counted. The object had twenty faces instead of the usual eight.

Kan landed behind her. “We saw it starting on the journey back. Hedrons broke up and recombined into new shapes. That’s one of them.”

“It’s irrigating the land,” said Drana. “Channeling mana back into the dead areas.”

Kan nodded. “That’s what this shape seems to do. There are several more regrowing the landscape in and around the city. I’ve heard news of other shapes that fill other purposes.”

“What sort?”

“From Tazeem, a hedron with just four faces that carves leylines. Akoum kor report another type, square, reconstructing mountains and relighting volcanoes. Murasa scouts have seen one spiked like a morningstar that leaves storms in its wake. It’s happening all across Zendikar.”

Drana considered the strange new shape. At Sea Gate the strangers who had come to battle the titans had described the true history of the hedrons, how they had been created and commanded to bind the eldrazi. Now the eldrazi were gone, truly _gone_ , not caged in a prison they constantly tested. Now the hedrons’ purpose was past, and they were…somehow…finding a new one.

“Is this the worst of the damage?” she asked.

“The worst of Ulamog’s effects.” Kan spoke the name freely and without fear. It was just a name now. “Kozilek’s damage is harder to understand. In the places it touched, the world…stopped working. Hedrons converged there as well, but no one knows what they’re doing. It’s fatal just to go near.”

“How much of Guul Draz did Kozilek change?”

“We got lucky. Tazeem and Sejiri bore the brunt of it.”

Drana rose again to survey Malakir, this time seeking the city’s lifeblood: its canals and swamps, lagoons and fens. So much - too much - of the city still lay dry and exposed as bone. But between buildings she caught flashes of more strange hedrons, and under their guidance the waters were rising to reclaim their familiar courses. Streams already lapped at the base of the city’s old walls, where fleshy gangs of nulls labored under burdens of wood and stone. Drana frowned at the sight. In the last century or so the bloodchiefs had allowed those walls to weather and wear away, trusting to both Malakir’s reputation and its fearsome natural defenses to protect it. Now overseers seemed to be raising them back into true fortifications.

“Reconstructing the walls?” she noted to Kan. “Have the other nations resumed their hostilities so quickly?”

“It’s not them we have to worry about,” growled Kan. Drana raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps the titans are gone, but their willing slaves persist.”

Drana tensed. “The traitor can’t have survived.”

“We haven’t found his body. What scouts we can spare say they’ve tracked his thralls back to the camp of a kor called Ayli, leader of the titans’ cult. She hides in the wastes that have yet to be reclaimed. She and her followers work a kind of death-magic we haven't seen before, some lingering taint of the eldrazi’s presence. They prefer to kill our kind, but they’ll take anyone they can catch alone. A few times they’ve even dared to raid Malakir itself.”

"A worthy foe," said Drana.

"Just so," said Kan. He did always know the way her mind worked.

Drana lifted her gaze to the cluster of dark towers on the high hill that marked the center of Malakir. “My quarters?”

“I’ll order them to be made ready,” said Kan.

“Do so. I have more of the city to see. I’ll feed when I return. Then convene the council of bloodchiefs. It’s time we spoke of the future of our people.”

 

* * *

 

A brilliant moon hung full and low in the night sky, a golden coin set just above the treeline. Drana watched it and thought of Innistrad’s cold silver. The bloodchiefs of Zendikar circulated within the open stone pavilion, all enjoying the breeze and the sight of Malakir laid out below the tower that held the pavilion aloft. The warm night wind blew light across exposed skin and Drana relished the touch, a sensation she had almost forgotten after weeks in full armor. Decanters of blood had been set out on the long marble table at the pavilion’s center and most of those attending held crystal glasses. Drana’s memory flitted back to Olivia Voldaren’s party, the lacy finery and ice-cold stares, faces hidden behind masks as if ashamed of their nature. Her people had no use for such frivolities. They wore fur and bone and insectile trophies won from the land that sustained them. Ash-pale skin shone in the moonlight, painted with red and black in patterns telling of great deeds and family allegiance. In among familiar decorations she caught glimpses of a new sigil marked in an unusual fuchsia hue; the mark of Sea Gate, a slash of color that mimicked the eldrazi blood she had worn.

And for the first time in Drana’s memory, some of the bloodchiefs wore their shoulders bare, displaying the horns that had long been reminders of their people’s secret shame. One or two had even decorated them with trophy-charms made of eldrazi ivory. For centuries her people had labored under the shadow of those ancient slavers. Now they carved jewelry from their erstwhile masters’ bones. Now they bore that heritage with pride. Drana swirled the blood in her glass and looked upon her people.

They didn't need her.

Drana, Kalastria bloodchief, had singlehandedly marshaled the forces of Malakir and brokered an unprecedented alliance among the clans that had not succumbed to the traitor's foulness. Led the liberation of their city, led the exodus to Tazeem, led her vampire warriors in the final stand against the titans. She had fought to see Zendikar free. And she had won that fight. Malakir was hers once again. No bloodchief would dare challenge her for at least a century to come. She commanded absolute respect and awe, and in the current chaos she could easily assert dominion over all of Guul Draz - not the casual sovereignty the vampires had always affected, but true control. And before the eldrazi came, Drana would have been content to stay and rule.

But now… Now she drifted like the hedrons, uncertain of her purpose in this changed world. Now she had had her first true fight in millennia, and all the hunts and games her people concocted to amuse themselves paled in comparison. Her blood thrilled to a true battle. She didn't want to give that up. Not yet. And somewhere out there the titans still slumbered, healing, waiting. Time moved differently in the space between worlds. Who knew when they might return? Olivia Voldaren had understood the gravity of that. The moonsilver sword hung light at Drana’s waist. Her prey had yet to be slain.

Drana moved to the marble table and placed one hand on the tall wooden chair at the head of it. Without any further summons the bloodchiefs silently converged, splitting themselves into family groups and arranging themselves within according to each clan’s particular reckoning of status. The family Kalastria clustered around her while the rest scattered along the table’s length. They took their seats, set down their glasses, and turned their eyes to her.

“It has been many centuries since we saw empty chairs at this table,” she declared. “The war took its toll on even the strongest of us. There is no shame in falling to an enemy of such terrible force.” She raised her glass. “To the fallen.”

Murmured echoes, glasses raised. A sip of blood to seal the toast. A certain relaxation behind the eyes for some bloodchiefs, understanding that their losses in battle would not be construed as clan weakness. As she had hoped. Drana set her glass back down and took her seat. “Yes, the war took its toll. But that war is finished. At last we may look to the future.”

Gazes newly fixed on her, sharp with interest. This was what they had come for. “The family Kalastria rules Malakir,” she declared. “Continue the restoration of our great city.” No change in the expressions of the watching chiefs. Kalastria’s current ascendance could not be disputed; of course they would have Malakir.

“To those of the family Ghet who remained true to our people, I grant the city of Nimana and charge them with its reconstruction.” Shifting, the lightest muttering from the others that Ghet should take such a prize, but Drana continued. “To the families Urnaav, Nirkana, and Emevera, I grant the duty of re-establishing our domain across Guul Draz. Divide this territory as you choose.” The mutters shifted from resentful to calculating. Forget Nimana; all of the continent could be theirs - if they had the strength to claim it. Ambition glittered in their eyes. Good. Drana paused slightly before continuing. Her next decree would be the true test of their faith in her.

“For many decades to come, Zendikar’s lords will have to be its gardeners,” she declared. “Guul Draz must be cultivated carefully to bloom once again. And so must our stock. The eldrazi have thinned the mortal herd too much. For now, we take only the blood of beasts and traitors.”

Voices raised, Kalastria’s bloodchiefs loudest among them. Kan allowed himself the slightest frown where he sat to her left. Drana lifted a hand for silence. “If we kill all the stock today, we'll have no feast tomorrow, hm? The clans have their bloodchiefs for a reason. We think of our people for centuries to come. Remind them of that.” She held up a cautionary finger. “But should mortal factions think to seize on the current chaos to harm us, quell them with all necessary force.” The voices subsided, now more thoughtful than angry. Drana knew full well that they were considering how a declaration of war, true or otherwise, might give them cover to do a certain amount of poaching. But they had taken her main point: leave the mortals to grow and multiply, for now.

“And do not think I have forgotten the necessity of rebuilding our own people,” she continued. “Those mortals that followed their nobles to Tazeem and survived have proven their worth. All families may embrace those of their number whom they deem worthy. Mortals of such fortitude are rare. Do not waste their strength on creating mere nulls.” According to Kan the dust of Sea Gate had barely settled before the bickering over the mortals had begun, but it wouldn’t hurt to formally grant permission. Kalastria would have already taken its pick of the litter; the other families could fight over the rest.

“I am going into the wastes,” said Drana. The bloodchiefs stilled. “I swore to all of you that I would hang the traitor’s skull over the gates of Malakir. His foul thralls still survive, and this kor Ayli threatens our people. The fools think themselves safe in the wastes. I will hunt them down in their own lair and bring back their heads. I leave at tomorrow noon.”

She stood at the head of the table and raised her glass. The ruby blood within sparkled in the moonlight. “To the lords of Zendikar!” she called. “Now and forever, we feast upon those who would subdue us!”

The roar of triumph echoed out across the Malakir night.

* * *

“The cultists tend to strike from the south,” said Kan, sweeping his hand across the map. “We haven’t surveyed the wastes, but assume they extend to the southern coast.”

Drana studied the map. Zendikari maps never stayed unaltered for long, but even so this one looked heavily marked. Wide swathes of grey painted sections of the continent known to have succumbed to the eldrazi. Green islands indicated livable areas, and those were distressingly far and few between.

“Regardless of who they worship, they’re still mortal. They can’t be living off the wastes,” said Drana.

“Their hunting parties travel long distances. Most are kor, used to ranging.”

Drana nodded. Kan rolled up the map and fitted it into a waterproof carrying case, frowning as he tried to wedge it into her pack. Drana stretched and rolled her shoulders to check the fit of her hunting armor one last time. It gleamed a fresh iridescent black, clean and solid as the day it had been forged. Repairing it had meant scrubbing away the eldrazi blood, but the armorer had enameled a long slash of magenta across her chestplate in its stead. She hadn't thought to ask for that. The armorer's payment had been doubled as a result.

Kan finally finished with the pack and handed it to her. She slung it on her back, considered its weight. “There’s someone who wants to say goodbye,” he remarked; and a moment later a knock sounded at her study door. Drana glared at her lieutenant, but Kan merely looked ever-so-slightly smug. He crossed to the door and ushered in her visitor, then stepped outside himself.

“Melindra,” said Drana, all her surprise turning to delight.

Her visitor looked a far sight from the bedraggled orphan who had fought the eldrazi along the march to Tazeem. Melindra now wore a fine tunic and pants, her hair neatly bound in an ivory clasp. The makeshift dagger she had carried in the wilds hung from her belt in a tooled-leather sheath, with a fresh hilt of ebony wood from the Hagra swamps. She had tied a scarf around her neck so that the ends of it fell across her shoulders, displaying geometric designs in red and white, marks of Kalastria allegiance and protection. And a splash of brilliant magenta decorated one arm, reminding even bloodchiefs not to underestimate her.

If they were still in the wilds, Melindra would have run to her in hopes of an embrace and maybe a treat or two. But that had been in the wilds. Here in Drana’s study she gave a slight bow, her composure perfect as any noble, and said, “My lady of Kalastria.”

Drana knelt so that Melindra could come to her and exchange the kiss of greeting. Drana rested her hands on the girl’s shoulders and looked her up and down. “You look well, my sweet. Have you chosen a date?”

“Twenty,” said Melindra. “I wanted to say sixteen but Ravi said twenty would be better. She’s probably right. But I hate waiting.”

“Patience is a virtue of any noble,” chided Drana.

“I know,” said Melindra. “But it’s so _hard.”_

Drana smiled down at the girl. Her overseer Ravi had the right of it, as usual. Melindra’s size and stature told her that she would reach maturity late for a kor. Sixteen years of age would be too early; she would still be growing. But at twenty Melindra would be in her prime, at the peak of her strength and fire. On that day the family Kalastria would welcome her into the bloodline, and her youth would never fade.

“How are the others?” she asked. “Kan told me the families have been falling over themselves to win your allegiances.”

Melindra smiled politely. “Kan is too kind. But it’s true our brigade has been greatly honored. Lots of soldiers wanted to come to Kalastria, of course, but only a few deserve it. The ones born in Nimana are all going with Ghet; it’s their duty to help rebuild their ruling house. The rest were angry about having to go with the other three families, but they’re happier after you said last night that they’re going out to re-settle the rest of Guul Draz. There’s going to be lots of room for us to stake out claims of our own.”

“Wise thinking,” said Drana.

Melindra flushed with pride. Her gaze took in Drana’s attire. “Are you going traveling again?” she asked.

“Hunting in the wastes. No, my sweet, you can’t come with me,” she added as Melindra opened her mouth. “I’ll be flying most of the way. And Malakir needs you here. Even Kan is staying behind.”

“Will you come back soon?”

“With the traitor’s head,” said Drana. She raised a hand to tap the ivory clasp in Melindra’s hair. “And plenty more eldrazi bone for you to carve.”

Melindra’s face broke into a wide grin, for a second returning to the feral joy of the orphan girl who had declared herself a soldier. It won an answering grin from Drana. “Go fetch my sword, little noble,” she said, standing again. Melindra dashed off as Drana pushed open the tall doors to one of the tower balconies adjoining her quarters. Melindra returned with her blade in its scabbard. Drana hooked it onto her belt at one hip; the moonsilver blade already hung at the other.

“Good hunting,” said Melindra as she stepped out onto the balcony.

“Good fortune,” answered Drana. “Make our family proud, my sweet.”

Then she turned her face to the south and soared into the air.

 

* * *

 

At the fringes of the wastes floated more of the strange spherical hedrons, and some of them bore chips and cracks that Drana paused to examine. Vandals had gouged away chunks of stone and scrawled greasy black runes across the rest. But whatever magic the cultists thought they were working had had no effect; the hedrons still bit into the dust in circles of blooming green. Drana nodded in satisfaction. Zendikar did not yield to such petty desecration.

Drana left the hedrons behind and crossed into the true wastelands before the sun set on her first day. In that dead blankness the smell of blood drifted on the wind for miles. Despite feeding well in Malakir the scent stirred Drana’s hunger; for her, it had only been days since the vicious battle, and since then she had twice crossed the boundaries of the world. She would not risk any trace of weakness when she slew the traitor of Ghet. So on the second day she curved her path to intercept the closest source. By noon they came into view: a small band of kor, four adults traveling together. They had painted their faces with the dust of the wastes. More crude, smeared black runes decorated their limbs and equipment. Ayli’s cultists, without a doubt. They were following a trail in the dust that they seemed to believe marked the passage of a surviving eldrazi sire. She stalked them throughout the day, listening to their shrill arguments and protestations of faith, laughing silently.

Drana took the kor at dusk, when the deepening shadows confused mortal vision. She culled them in languorous succession, taking the time to feed long and well. Fresh life rose in her veins as her body soaked up the energy. The last she saved to interrogate, but he refused to do more than babble praise for Ayli and his vanished masters. Another time it might have entertained her to dominate his feeble will, break his mind inch by inch, but at the moment she had more pressing concerns. In the midst of his squalling Drana simply bit into his neck and drank the memories she needed. From each body she used a flask to drain the last few drops of blood, then dripped half of it back into the open mouth along with a whisper-thread of power. None of these weak-minded fools deserved a peaceful death, let alone the chance of awakening as a vampire. She left the kor laid out side by side in the dust and picked over their equipment as she waited.

The moon had sunk below the flat horizon before the first of the corpses stirred. After that the transformation came quickly. Teeth sharpened into needle points. Skin bulged and grew over blank, unseeing eyes, their skulls shedding white hair like snow. The first null staggered upright not long after, already snarling and whining for meat. Drana caught its mind with her own and ordered it to stillness. When all four reanimated nulls stood waiting in the darkness, she took the flask of kor blood and spat a single sip into each gaping, drooling mouth, giving them the taste of their prey. Then she released their minds. The nulls ran into the wastes, blind fleshy heads waggling from side to side, black bloodstained tongues lolling to taste the air. Drana had not left them much nourishment. They would find kor to consume before the sun rose, or else their own flesh would shrivel and crumble into the wastes. Either end served her purposes.

Twice more in the next five days she ambushed the cult’s hunting parties. As one of her newest nulls stoked the campfire it had built while alive, she updated her maps with the information she had sieved out of their memories. This hunt would not be a simple one. Ayli’s camp moved, of course - she was still kor - but with so many parties ranging afield the scouts had to leave signs to direct their comrades in the field to the new location. It would not be hard to follow those signs herself. But the collated memories sparked a different concern. Ayli had more followers than she had anticipated, and her kor victims had seen many vampiric thralls with them. None of them individually posed a threat, but they would get in Drana’s way, and their sheer numbers could give an advantage to Ayli or the traitor. Even if she kept every fresh null she made, she would still be heavily outnumbered. Plus, Kan was right: the cultists worked life-draining magic of a sort not often seen. It was too similar to her own vampiric abilities for comfort.

She rolled up the map and set it aside, then gestured a dismissal; the null tending the flames fled into the darkness. Alone, she gazed into the fire, strangely drawn to its leaping warmth. Her body had long since grown numb to trivial matters of heat and cold, but this landscape chilled her on a deeper level.

Drana did not often have cause to contemplate her significance within the world she inhabited. She had rarely known the self-doubt that afflicted mortals. But the eldrazi had broken that security. No being could see those warping hordes and maintain the illusion of mastery over an understandable universe. No being could cross this dead land and still deny their power. Zendikar had driven the titans back into chaos, but not destroyed them. Drana had sworn to finish the hunt. It didn’t cow her, the magnitude of her task; but it would be foolish not to think matters through. Patience was a virtue of any noble, as she had told Melindra. And the more she considered it, the more she became certain that she was not yet ready to face that fight. A mere two crossings between worlds had cost her a significant amount of strength and time. It had taken all the power of Zendikar to damage the titans in her world, and now she would face them in their element. She glanced at her traveling gear, neatly stacked in the firelight. Even sheathed, the moonsilver sword still exuded a faint pearly glow visible to her vampiric sight. A blade worthy of your hunt, Olivia Voldaren had said, and it was. But one slender sword would not tip the balance of power.

Near midnight the wind across the wastes began to change. On the new breeze Drana scented mortal blood; but not the dry stone and leather taste of kor. She lifted into the night air, curious, following the trail in the dark. The source didn’t move. The mortal had camped for the night. As she grew closer the unusual texture of the scent began to resolve itself: salt spray and seaweed. Merfolk, and just one of them. Unusual. The kor remembered seeing some merfolk among Ayli’s cultists; after all, the people of the sea had kept the same eldrazi gods as the kor. But sending one out alone?

In the flat, featureless expanse she saw the source long before she reached it: a solitary tent pitched near a campfire that guttered low in the small hours of the night. As she approached, a memory began to tickle the back of her mind. Drana landed silently and circled the tent, trying to place the mortal’s scent. The specifics eluded her, but she was certain she’d encountered this merfolk before. Then the proximity answered her question in a sudden and unexpected way: a heartbeat-wave of extraordinary magical power pulsed from the tent and resonated in the dead ground beneath her, awakening life. That power she remembered quite clearly: a tall bident of dark pink coral that had radiated uncanny energy, grasped in the hand of one who had come to Sea Gate ready for a fight.

Interesting.

The merfolk awoke shortly before dawn. By then her campfire had sunk to dull red embers and the bident’s proximity had begun to change the bleached grey dust around it back to limestone. She emerged from the tent to see Drana seated cross-legged on the other side of her fire.

The merfolk had admirably swift reactions. She had the bident poised to strike in a moment, her other hand going for a dagger at her belt. If they had been near a shoreline Drana might have even moved to disarm her. As it were, she stayed seated. When Drana didn’t move the merfolk stepped forward cautiously, still keeping the fire between them. She held the bident across her body and all her bright-blue fins and frills had fanned out as wide as they would go, but she seemed confused by Drana’s lack of response.

The merfolk’s eyes narrowed. “I know you,” she said, with a touch of surprise. “You were at Sea Gate. You’re the vampire - the bloodchief from Guul Draz.”

“Correct. I am Drana of Malakir.” She spread her hands wide, showing her empty palms. “I’m not here to fight. I want to talk.”

The bident didn’t waver. “Talk, then.”

“You have the power to cross between worlds. As do I.“

The merfolk's face contorted into astonishment. The first fragments of dawn caught in the blue jewel she wore bound on her forehead. “You - you're a planeswalker too?"

 _Planeswalker._ That was the word, then. "Yes," said Drana. “And your weapon - you stole it from a god on another world, didn’t you?”

“So what? What do you want with my bident?”

“I want you to help me steal another one.”

Dozens of emotions flickered across the merfolk’s face, but she settled at last on anger. “I won’t help you in whatever scheme you’ve come up with. Zendikar’s suffered enough,” she hissed.

Drana lifted a hand. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to use it here. I’m going to use it to kill Kozilek and Ulamog.”

“They’re dead.”

“They're bound. But they were bound once before. One day they will be free again. You may not plan to be around for it, but I do. I mean to kill the titans for good. And you fought them with that bident.“

The tall frill encircling the merfolk’s head drooped. “I did. And I lost.”

“Then we need more.”

The merfolk stared at her. “I say we take more,” continued Drana, louder. “One bident was not enough? Then I’ll take a dozen. Thousands of worlds lie before us. Within them hide thousands of gods, expecting their worshippers to shrink and grovel, undeserving of their power. I will take it from them. I will gather more weapons, more strength, until I can reach the titans themselves in their deep lair. For this…I seek your assistance.”

"You're a vampire."

"Well-observed,” said Drana drily.

“You’re going to attack me.”

"I'm no mindless beast. You're more useful to me alive."

"Yeah? What about alive and a vampire?"

Drana laughed. “A vampire wielding all the strength of the sea? I've no desire to face such a creature. Stay mortal, my little merfolk."

Those bright blue frills stiffened again. Her grip tightened on the bident. “Okay, first of all, I'm not your little _anything_. My name is Kiora. Got that?"

"Kiora," repeated Drana.

“Second of all, why the hell do you think I’ll help you?”

“I know why you’re here now, so far from the sea. At Sea Gate you called the titans by the names Ula and Cosi. The merfolk gods.”

“They were never gods,” spat Kiora.

“Precisely. Your people gave them their sacrifice and devotion, but none of it ever mattered. You hate them for that. Now even though they’re gone, you’re here pursuing the same prey I am - the eldrazi cultists who would still worship them. There are merfolk among them, aren’t there? I’m curious. Do you mean to kill or save them?”

For the first time, Kiora's hostility wavered. “Save them,” she said at last. “It’s not their fault they believe. The eldrazi tricked my people.”

“The eldrazi never cared enough to trick you. They never even cared enough to use you.” If Drana had been mortal, she would have taken a deep breath before she spoke the next part. “But they used us.”

A flicker of genuine curiosity crossed Kiora’s face. “Wait, who? Vampires?”

“We were made in the shadow of our makers. The vampires of Zendikar are descended from the eldrazi.”

“What? That doesn’t make any sense. You’re lying.”

“Why would I invent such a humiliating lie? They created us to serve. And for this crime I will see them dead. I will not let the eldrazi go, not now, and not ever, for not until the titans are slain can I count myself truly free.” She spread her hands again. “There. Now I’ve given you a secret. Is that enough to purchase a measure of trust?”

Kiora seated herself slowly, laying the bident across her knees. “You’re serious? The eldrazi made the vampires?”

“Not the first of us. But they subjugated the creatures they found, and made the bloodchiefs to be their overseers just as we oversee our nulls. We were _twisted_ by them, shaped into forms they deemed useful. Enslaved as thralls for thousands of years. When the titans were bound, we gained our freedom. When they rose again, they called to their former slaves, and even after all these millennia some heeded their voice.”

“I heard that some of the vampires had gone over. I thought they just wanted…whatever it is your kind want.”

“Those who returned to the eldrazi were no true vampires," hissed Drana. "Traitors, all of them. But who is worse - the creatures who would choose bondage, or the gods that would ask it? You hate them as much as I do. All that make of others willing slaves - I want them dead. I will throw them down and seize their power, and I will use it to kill the ultimate liars.”

 _But I cannot do it alone._ No need for the merfolk to know her own misgivings, not until Drana could be sure of her allegiance. And of course Drana didn’t _need_ her. But she would…make things easier.

Kiora stared into the fire, deep in thought. A clear membrane slid across her eyes to keep out the smoke. One finned hand played across the surface of the bident, touching the bumps and hollows of pitted coral. Even here it exuded the scent of salt and brine, of ocean life.

"There's no need to make a choice now,” said Drana. Kiora looked up from her study of the flames. “Hunt with me, and then decide."

Bright blue eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Hunt who,” said Kiora.

“The same prey as you. I’m going to kill the kor called Ayli, and the traitor of Ghet. I swore I’d hang his skull over the gates of Malakir, and I keep my oaths. You come armed, but a sea god’s weapon is useless in a desert. If you want to rescue your kin, you could do worse than having me as an ally.”

Kiora returned her attention to the fire. Drana resisted the urge to impress her will upon the merfolk, to simply bludgeon her into cooperating. No. She needed Kiora in possession of her own mind. Besides, if Drana pressed, the merfolk might run - run beyond Zendikar entirely, where Drana would be unable to track her.

“You don’t harm any merfolk,” she said at last, and Drana knew she had won. “I don’t care what you do to the rest, but don’t hurt them.”

“I will not stay my hand from one who raises arms against me.”

“Aren’t you a great and powerful bloodchief? Surely a pack of mere merfolk can’t threaten you. Hurt any of my people and our deal is off.”

Drana suppressed the smile that wanted to curve her lips. “Fair enough. In return for your assistance, no harm will come to your kin. Does that suffice?”

“For now.” Kiora stood. “Well then. Shall we?”

 

* * *

 

At the end of the wastes Ayli and the traitor of Ghet marshaled their thralls and worked strange magics. On a world called Innistrad Emrakul slumbered in the silver moon, awaiting a sign only she could perceive. Engulfed in chaos beyond any sight, Ulamog and Kozilek rested and healed, thinking themselves beyond any being’s reach. And here at a solitary fire two planeswalkers met, traded words, swore to kill them all; and together they journeyed towards the wide horizon.

**Author's Note:**

> I truly, deeply believe that Drana of Malakir is the mono-B planeswalker hero we all deserve. So I couldn't resist giving her a spark-story and setting her off on her own path through the Multiverse. Good luck, Drana.
> 
> The exact nature of Drana's planeswalking is a little complicated. Vampires in general can't hold a spark, but it's unclear whether the vampires of Zendikar are truly undead. A couple sources suggest they might actually be descended from Sorin, which would make them alive and capable of sparking, but more sources say they're descended from the eldrazi the way I've described it here. I've compromised by saying vampires already existed on Zendikar, but that once chained the eldrazi's attempts to continue influencing the plane led them to create the bloodchiefs (originally specialized spawn) and twist the vampires to their designs. With Nahiri's resealing of the titans a thousand years or so after their original imprisonment, the eldrazi's influence over the vampires waned and most broke free of their power. So Drana is, while sapient and possessing a mind and soul of her own, still descended from the eldrazi. Her planeswalking abilities are a combination of the usual spark and the kinship of the eldrazi to the blind eternities.
> 
> It's always annoyed me that despite being called "hedrons," from "polyhedron," all the hedrons on Zendikar are octohedrons. A few cards from original Zendikar show hedrons clustered together into larger structures, so I decided this seemed like the perfect time to finally get some non-eight-sided hedrons into the picture. Three of the new hedron shapes are platonic solids that follow the ancient Greek elemental associations: icosahedra (20-sided) with water, cubes with earth, tetrahedra (4-sided) with fire. Octohedra are associated with air, but like I said I'm bored of octohedra, so the spiky storm-generating hedron is a stellated icosahedron.
> 
> Where are Drana and Kiora's adventures headed next? Well, we do have another plane ruled by gods, one of whom uses a bident...
> 
> [Link to story post on tumblr.](http://sundayswiththeilluminati.tumblr.com/post/158114541466/story-post-and-not-to-yield-magic-the)


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